


Mine Eyes Dazzle

by karrenia_rune



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, community: fic on demand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1366885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty much what it says on the tin, a look at Isaac Mendez, early on during Season 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine Eyes Dazzle

Title: Mine Eyes Dazzle  
Fandom: Heroes (tv)  
Author: karrenia(Karen)  
Character: Isaac Mendez  
Rating: General  
Recipient: cocoacat15's previously filled multifandom  
line challenge.  
Request Details: http://community.livejournal.com/fic_on_demand/289633.html  
Day 12 of the June Challenge  
Summary: Isaac Mendez, dealing with his powers

Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to Tim Kring and NBC Television, it is not mine. References to various episodes leading up to the series finale.  
Isaac Mendez had once believed that he needed the drugs in order for anything halfway decent to emerge on his blank canvases.

Coming to New York City had been both the best and the worst decision, everything of any significance in his life had happened here, Simone, the paintings that predicted future events yet to come, even the possible destruction of New York City by an explosion.

Isaac never knew when or where, or just how it worked, and after all a while Isaac Mendez stopped questioning it. A talent for art had become a talent to paint the future. As odd as that might sound, he never would have believed it, until the events depicted in his paintings came to pass.

He had even painted a scene that depicted his own death, lying dead on the floor, murdered by the serial killer, Sylar, his head cut open and his eyes, no longer white, but restored to this natural dark brown color, staring wide open at the ceiling of his studio apartment.  
Isaac thought about that and realized that what he needed to do. “I can’t prevent my own death, but when my number does come up, I’ll be ready.” Isaac tilted his head to one side and stuffed his hands into the pocket of his denim jeans. “A small drop in the bucket; but I will make a difference, it may not be much in the grand scheme of things, but a difference all the same.”

If he stopped to think about it, sometimes, when painting, with or without the drugs, it was as if the paintbrush in his hand became an extension of his own will, conscious or otherwise. It simply seemed to flow over the canvas, lines, and shapes forming out of nothing.

In that pure white space of producing an image the whites of his eyes rolled up in his head, and everything else around him, heat, light, noise, sound, smell, every other sensation and outlet that they had to sense the world around him became dominated by the motion of his hand.

The silence of being in that state, what in musical terms was called in a fugue state, was the best place to be while he was painting. In that state, he could forget all of his other worries, troubles, and confusions. The only sound that he could hear while in that state was a dull white noise, thrumming at the back of his skull and through his ears, much like listening to the muffled roar of the ocean while standing on the beach holding up a seashell to one’s ear.

The drugs and his need to be high in order to be able to paint had eventually come in between his life as an artist and the life he had shared with Simone. The arguments, bitter recriminations and eventually the breakup, had been something that he regretted. He had offered to allow her to keep the copy of the key to his apartment, but Simone had made it painfully clear that it was over between them.

What hurt the most was not the way Simone had broke up with him, it was the fact that she was with Peter Petrelli, and then much later, Simone’s accidental and tragic death.  
Isaac never considered himself the emotive type, but he figured he had managed well enough, but sometimes he wondered if his powers, he had even been told by the folks at the rehab clinic in Odessa, Texas, had a word for it, precognition, were more of a curse than a blessing.

“You know you’ve lost your mind, when you laugh and cry at the same time.” Isaac muttered aloud as he stood on the far edge of the painting that took up almost the entire floor space: a painting that depicted New York City going up flames after a massive explosion .

Isaac turned around from gazing at the painting on the floor and strode over to the double glass windows that let out to the roof balcony, with the great view of the city.

“I’m not a hero, but even I know when something has to be done to prevent this from happening.”

“No matter what, we will stop this. You hear me, to anyone listening out there, We will Stop this from happening.”


End file.
